


SBAHABJ : THE MOVIE X #

by gregariousProtagonist, oxfordRoulette



Category: Homestuck, Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Decay, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Issues, Gore, Humor, Illustrated, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Podfic Available, Psychological Horror, Slurs, Suicide, Unsafe Sex, Urine, Verbal Abuse, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregariousProtagonist/pseuds/gregariousProtagonist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxfordRoulette/pseuds/oxfordRoulette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SBAHABJ: THE MOVIE X # CONTnues where our TWO DUDES lef t off!! SILLY Angtics and fun romanc e ahoY!</p><p>**Winner of the Homestuck Shipping World Cup Collab Round! That's right, kiddos, you're reading an award-winning ship extravaganza!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	SBAHABJ : THE MOVIE X #

**Author's Note:**

> Images done by wulfgurrrrl1717 and thecreepy.
> 
> Plus, there's a podfic that you can read along with!!! Listen as starsheeps screams her way through a sex scene without reading it beforehand!
> 
> #  [BONUS PODFIC HERE](http://sbahj-shippping-olympic.tumblr.com/post/96427788261/prepping-up-for-the-team-hswc-hella-jeff-3sweet)

  
  
_“And he telling me it's real, that he love my sex appeal_  
_Say he don't like em boney, he want something he can grab_  
_So I pulled up in the Jag, and I hit em with the jab like_  
  
_My anaconda don't_  
_My anaconda don't_  
_My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun_ ”  
 

 

 

  
_-Nicki Minaj, "Anaconda"_

 

 

  
******

 

 

It amazes me that one moment can have such an influence over the rest of your life. For some, it’s missing that critical catch at a home football game. For others, it’s missing the bus on the way to work. For me, it was taking that internship at Big Mann’s Accounting.

I had hoped that would change my life for the better, of course. I was a young man of 21. Fresh out of college with dreams in my pocket and hope on my sleeve. But time turned, and I saw my friend Geromy earn promotion after promotion, while my future sunk faster than a car into a lake. I was drowning.

And then. _He_ walked into my life. And it all went to shit. I blamed Big Mann’s. I blamed Geromy. Hell, I even blamed _him_. But most of all I blamed myself.

So, before I make another life altering decision, I am going to relive the events that brought me here.

 

 

******

 

  
He was a 28 year old intern and the man standing before him had taken his promotion. The smug, early twenties gentlemen wore a red button-up shirt, a grin, and a great mop of black hair. He looked like the kind of guy who could convince you to do anything, even convince you to let him bang your mom, and then convince you to bang her too.

He was probably a nice guy, probably a good salesman, a good account manager, and a good bar buddy. But Sweet Bro was in no mood for connecting with the new hires, especially when them taking his job just kept happening.

“Hey man,” said the new guy, leaning over Sweet Bro’s desk, “can you tell me where the break room is? I’m hungry as shit, I keep forgetting to make it to the grocery store and had to eat jelly on a hot dog last night.”

He laughed in a way that Sweet Bro previously thought was reserved for talk show hosts and famous athletes, head thrown back and confident that everyone would laugh with him.

“Were you high?” Sweet Bro asked, not in the mood to show around another new employee.

“Nah man. Just hungry. So, where’s the break room.”

Sweet Bro nodded in the direction of said room. The new man nodded, but did not leave.

“I’m Hella Jeff, by the way,” he said, grinning in the way that only beautiful people can grin.  “What’s your name?”

“Sweet Bro.”

“Sweet, bro,” said Hella Jeff, making the only joke that people made when they heard his name. “Listen, I just moved here for the job and I’ve been clawing up the walls with boredom since I got here. Want to hang out tonight? Maybe go out and get a drink? Have some nanchos?”

“You mean nachos?”

“No way, nanchos! They’re the shit, like manlier nachos, full of jalapenos and spices and shit. Do you wanna?”

Sweet Bro looked up at him. Was this guy serious? Nanchos?

“Come on man, it’s not a date,” Hella Jeff winked. “Unless you want it to be.”

“I’m straight,” said Sweet Bro.

“And I’m bored out of my mind, so let’s hang out tonight.” Hella Jeff pulled a business card out of his pocket. “I haven’t had the card updated for the new job, yet, but the number is still good. Text me your number and we will plan where to go. I’ll see you after work.”

Hella Jeff walked away, his tight yet masculine ass swaying in his jeans.

Sweet Bro looked down at the card. Then he pulled out his phone.

  


******

  
“Dude, who names a bar Mama’s?” Geromy asked.  Sweet Bro had invited him along, to make it clear to Hella Jeff this wasn’t a date.

“Why does anyone name anything anything?” Hella Jeff replied, nudging Sweet Bro. Sweet Bro took a step closer to Geromy, ignoring the feeling in the pit of his stomach he got when Hella Jeff touched him.

“This place just better have some hot mamas,” Geromy muttered as the trio walked in the door.

The club was packed tight, Jason Derulo blaring over the speakers as the dancers let their hips do the dirty talking for them. This did not seem like the type of club you would go to have some “nanchos” and a quiet beer. This seemed like the club you would go to to get some ass.

“Take your pick, my man,” Hella Jeff said, grinning at all the hot babes in the club. “I looked this place up on Melp and it is rated only second to Applebee’s in the ratio of hot babes to dicks department.”

“Melp?” asked Sweet Bro.

“Man Yelp.”

“Whelp,” said Geromy, eying a curvy girl at the bar, “I wasn’t invited with the premise of bromancing. I’m gonna go get laid.”

Before Sweet Bro could protest, Geromy strode off into the bodies, leaving him alone with Hella Jeff. Hella Jeff who was suddenly standing closer and looking predatory.

“He’s right, you know,” said Hella Jeff, “I only invited you here for some bromancin. Geromy isn’t really my type.”

Sweet Bro stiffened. “Your type?”

“I like older guys who look defeated,” said Hella Jeff moving closer to Sweet Bro. His voice was dark and husky, something Sweet Bro heard only in pornos he watched late at night... for the women, of course. “I like them to come to me pre-broken, not a lot of fight in them.”

“For bromancing?”

“For bone-mancing.”

Sweet Bro flushed and backed away.  He felt something inside him, something hot and wanting. He probably had to pee…

“I’m going to the bathroom,” said Sweet Bro.

Hella Jeff followed.  
 

******

  
With no preamble, Hella Jeff shoved Sweet Bro against the bathroom counter, mouth slamming against his own in a painful, yet pleasing, sensation. Fuck. Sweet Bro felt his cock swell in in his jeans, his sinful, fat, nasty, trash of a cock. Throbbing with blood and pleasure because this… MAN… had his tongue in his mouth and his hand on his. GOD.  
 

  
Sweet Bro bit down, hard, on Hella Jeff’s lip. With a groan that sounded far too erotic for Sweet Bro’s taste, Hella Jeff stepped back.

“Get the fuck off me man,” said Sweet Bro, not able to bring himself to fully push Hella Jeff away. Those pecs. That ass.

Hella Jeff rammed his mouth against Sweet Bro’s again, groping his ass and pushing him back against the counter. Sweet Bro pressed against him like the needy, little fag he was.

When they broke for air, Hella Jeff looked at him with disgust and arousal. “You fucking cocktease.”

Hella Jeff slapped him across the face. It stung.

“I knew,” said Hella Jeff rubbing one hand against the bulge in Sweet Bro’s pants, “from the first moment I saw you, in the office, that I was going to make you my bitch.”

“I’m not,” Sweet Bro gasped out, trying to ignore how much he wanted Hella Jeff to unzip his jeans and really touch him, “a homosexual.”

Hella Jeff sneered and pulled Sweet Bro close. Sweet Bro shuddered against his will.

“No,” Hella Jeff agreed, “but you are going to be my slave.”

He shoved Sweet Bro to his knees. Sweet Bro looked up as Hella Jeff unsheathed his massive cock.

“Now, suck.”

When he put it in his mouth, he knew he was going to hell. But god, did it taste sweet. He slurped that shlong, deep in his throat, he didn't know he could take it in that far. If he could have swallowed it whole, he would have. God, he would have.

The piss on the the tiled floor was starting to soak into the knees of his jeans. This was only slightly more uncomfortable than the rock hard bulge in his pangs, jutting forward out of the fly, almost snagging on the zipper.

Hella Jeff looked down at him and said, "TOUCH YOURSELF"

He took his love meat in his hand. It was so degrading. So erotic. And he stroked. Hella Jeff watched him with dark, hungry eyes, until he had his own disco stick in his hands. There they were, two grown men in a public restroom, jerking off. Sweet Bro closed his eyes and focused on the palm of his hand sliding up and down his shaft. With his eyes closed, he could pretend the sight of that rugged, angry man did not turn him on this much.

“Now finger yourself,” Sweet Bro heard Hella Jeff say, “you know, in the butt.”

Sweet Bro moved his hand to his backside and penetrated. He was tight and that was not going to help with what he knew was coming next.

Suddenly, Sweet Bro felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Hella Jeff leaning over him.

“Take off your pants,” said Hella Jeff. “I’m going to fuck you.”

Sweet Bro did not protest. He was disgusting. He wanted Hella Jeff to fuck him. He pulled down his pants and positioned himself with his rear up at dick level. He did not worry about how easily he gave in to his unwanted, gay, desires. He just wanted the D.

The D was had, Hella Jeff groaned with pleasure as he filled up Sweet Bro with his pulsating manhood. Sweet Bro moaned and pushed back against him. He was so gay. He was so fucking gay.

"Yiff my hot butt," Sweet Bro moaned.

With each thrust, Sweet Bro felt himself getting closer and closer to release. Finally, the creamy love juice of Hella Jeff’s cock burst inside him and Sweet Bro complied by ejaculating all over the grimy bathroom tile.

“You’re my fucking whore,” Hella Jeff whispered into his ear.

“I’m your fucking whore,” said Sweet Bro.

“Oh my fuck,” said a voice that sounded an awful lot like Geromy.

There was Geromy, standing in the bathroom door, his eyes wide.

“I didn’t realize you were both… um… banging,” He said, trying to avoid looking at his best friend’s exposed cock and cum dripping asshole. Sweet Bro felt crushing hatred swell within him. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He wasn’t… he wasn’t…

Geromy left the bathroom quickly and Sweet Bro stood up. His heart beat fast in his throat.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” He said, punching the mirror. It cracked a bit.

“Baby, baby, baby,” said Hella Jeff, standing and pulling up his jeans, “At least now he knows you’re gay. Come on, it’s no big deal.”

Sweet Bro punched the mirror again. And again. And again until it shattered around his fist. “I’m. Not. Gay.”

Hella Jeff moved closer. “Well,” he said, “ you did just let me put my cock in you.”

Sweet Bro screamed in rage, and before he knew what he was doing, grabbed a broken shard of mirror.

“I’M NOT GAY.” he screamed, and thrust the sharp object into Hella Jeff’s abdomen in a horrible mockery of the way Hella Jeff had thrust his cock into him only moments before.

Hella Jeff sputtered and sank to the floor.

“You killed me, man.” He said, staring up at Sweet Bro in confusion and resignation. “I made love to you and now I’m slain.”

Sweet Bro dropped the shard and backed away.

“I could have fallen for you, man,” said Hella Jeff. “ I could have loved you.”

“I know,” said Sweet Bro, biting back tears, fears, and guilt as he pushed out of the bathroom, “I know.”  
 

******

After rapidly flashing back over the preceding events that drove me to this point, I stumbled back to my home. Did I have a home? Where was I going? Everything became a terrible, degrading blur of drunken emotions and repressed homosexuality.

I ended up in a dingy garage, the paint peeling off the walls, the light flickering in time with the scuttling of mice, the ancient chemicals festering on the wooden shelves… Did I live here? I was confused and lost, and only wanted one thing to happen…

  


  
The end of my story.

I rapidly grabbed a bottle of paint thinner from the shelf, turning it over and over between my palms. I relished the cold, glassy, cylindrical feel of the container, as it was much like Hella Jeff’s fat nasty cock. I would have loved to stick it in my butt- No! I could not give into these feelings! I was the fat nasty one here!

I looked at the bottle, the brand name ironically labeled “Geromy.” Well, Geromy, you were my new friend now.

I opened the bottle, deciding on a toast. “Good-night, sweet Bro; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” I said, cheering no one.

I tipped it down my gullet, not thinking of how it would burn, how it would rot my throat-flesh, how it would make me feel like I had smoked at least four hundred joints and would die of marijuana overdose. But I was not dying the death meant for Snoop Dogg, I was dying the death meant for me… A death of chemicals.

I screamed, but no sound came out. My lungs, I felt them turning to smoke. My stomach, I felt the lining give way to the burning acid. I tried to vomit, but all that came up was little trickles of bile.

My body spasmed, my muscles giving out from the deadly chemicals cycling through my bloodstream. It was joyous and disgusting, my suffering only signifying how near the end of my life was. My eyes rolled back in my head and I began to cry blood.

My throes of death were distracted by two familiar, red shoes standing in front of my vision. I looked up.

“But… But how?” I asked, my voice suddenly restored.

“Because…” said Hella Jeff, looking down on me like some kind of smug Subway staff member. “You do a lot of drugs, you hideous cock.”

“... What? No! I am just a businessman!”

“No, seriously, look at all that heroin in the corner.”

I looked at where he pointed, and watched empty syringes materialize before my very eyes. I could not believe it. Me, a heroin junkie? I may have snorted cocaine off of hookers once or twice, but I was not that kind of man.

He must be lying. He must be a hallucination of my paint-thinned mind, a mind tainted by the sins of murder/suicide, and worse, homosexuality.

I glanced at my arm, where the heroin would have gone in. There was, indeed, a tattoo right there, of a bee stinging my vein. How original! How clever! Perhaps Hella Jeff was right, that I was just hallucinating in my garage… But then, did I even kill him in the bathroom?

“I know what you’re thinking…” said Hella Jeff. “And yes, you were violently fapping alone in the bathroom of the club, just like that one scene in Black Swan. And yes, your mom was there too. And I was boning her.”

“N-no…” I said, my vision blackening. The heroin… or the paint thinner… or the shock of oedipal relations was causing me to faint. “What is real here, Hella Jeff? What is real?”

“I don’t know, fuckmunch. The only thing that is certain is your homo. You could be face down, dead in the pool for all I know.”

I fell backwards. My palms became clammy, my mouth no longer responded to my commands, my amazing bee tattoo blurred out of sight. My head slapped against the concrete, but I could not feel it. 

“It looks like you’ve seen a different perspective,” said Hella Jeff, standing over my fading vision. “The perspective... of MADNESS, old sport.”

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

  


  


 

  


******

Dave Strider sits triumphant in the midst of a couch full of friends. He watches each of their reactions like a hawk, not daring to miss a single peep of retaliation in reaction to his movie. This is important. This defines the fate of his career.

Jade Harley turns to him first, looking at him like he just ran over her dog with a car. Yes, good, exactly what he wanted. He leaves her to suffer in silence while he focuses his attentions on John Egbert.

John stares at the carpet, mumbling something in whispered ramblings. When Dave listens in closer, he hears, “What…What… How did he get Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson to have sex on camera?”

Two down, one to go.

Rose Lalonde stares at him like a Gendo Ikari who has Seen Too Much. She opens her mouth to retort, to tell him everything that’s wrong with it, to tell him what a terrible human being he is. He can see her muscles straining, her throat clenching, just dying to passively complain to him. But, just as quickly, her mouth snaps shut, her fists fold in her lap, and she says in the calmest tone she can muster, “I liked the film noir _Great Gatsby_ montage at the end, juxtaposed with clips from _Space Odyssey: 2001_.”

But it wasn’t calm enough. Her stuttered, jolted, angered wording tells him all he needs to know. He smiles to himself, imperceptible in the dark.

You’ve won this round, Dave Strider.


End file.
